


Prince & King

by DarknessAmongLight



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Character Death, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:48:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28083447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarknessAmongLight/pseuds/DarknessAmongLight
Summary: Thorin died. She refused to let that happen.
Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Sacrifice

Desperately, Frey clawed her way up Ravenhill, hands numb from the ice. The muscles in her legs screamed in pain. Below her the sounds of battle continued, metal against metal. Every creature she could imagine was fighting but she didn’t care about them. She needed to get to Thorin. She had seen him on goatback climb the cliff but she was no goat. The climb had taken longer than she hoped. When she finally reached the top she found herself gravely unprepared for what she saw. 

From her position up the frozen river, she could make out two figures. A hobbit kneeling over a dwarf. An ache in her chest instantly formed. The dark pool underneath the lying figure was obvious. They were dead or dying.

As she creeped forward, not wanting to be seen. Fear gripped her. The figure became more clear, as did the words coming from the hobbit.

“No, no no, no.” The hobbit moved desperately. “Thorin.” There was a quiet cry of anguish as the hobbit fell back away from the body. 

The name and the cry gutted Frey where she stood. She failed. She failed to find him. Now, he was gone. He was actually gone. All hope of redemption was gone with him.

Hastily, she hid behind a nearby boulder. Pressing her back against the cold stone she closed her eyes. In her mind she saw him, young, decades ago. He smiled at her, laughing in her memory. They were young, discovering the world together, growing together. 

A heavy sob burst from her mouth, caught in her hands. She cried endlessly for him, gasping for air. The sting of defeat, and failure filled her. She had only come back to Erebor for him.

When the raven came to the Iron Hills with a request for aid from the King Under the Mountain, her heart had lept. Hope filled her. When Dain announced the army was to march, she followed. There was an obligation. Thorin had left a mark on her, one that never left. Years had passed but surely the dwarf she knew was the same one everyone followed. During the journey she had hoped for a reunion, which was impossible. Yet, she dared to hope.

Silent tears streamed down her face while she stared at the back of her hands. The sobs had ceased, but the tears still fell. 

Behind her she could hear gentle hushed voices, punctuated by more cries of agony, Thorin’s friends. Her tears continued to fall for them. She wished she wasn’t alone. At least they had each other. Eventually, the voices grew distant as the sun dipped behind the mountains. She still sat, the frozen rock poured its coldness into her body. The tears still fell, a constant stream.

When the tears ran dry and only the pain remained, Frey found herself staring at the tattoos which marked her arms and hands. The moon cast it’s hollow light on the frozen landscape surrounding her. The dark marks stood defined against the paleness of her skin. The shapes and lines traveled from her hands to the rest of her body. She knew each line and curve. Each, a defining moment forever engraved in her skin until the necessary moment. 

Frey glanced up at the moon, eyes glowing in their light. “Is this the moment?” She asked the sky and herself. “For him, what will I give?” Her hand absentmindedly traced the lines on her forearm. 

There was a cost when tampering with fate, changing death. The one preparing the ritual would lose a vital part of who they are. A defining moment, a memory. Frey knew all this but the thought of the dwarf she once knew, Thorin, being forever discarded, to become a memory, caused her resolve to strengthen. Her memories were worth it, worth him. She’d always know for him, she would do anything.

Slowly, she climbed out from behind the boulder and carefully strode across the frozen ice. When she reached the pool of blood she stopped. The body was gone. She felt foolish. Of course his friends would take him with them, to bury him in the halls of his forefathers, to be honored as a king.

Staring at the blood Frey spoke, calm and steady. “Fate has determined your death but I hope you can live past what honor and duty demanded. If you wish to live as a lowly dwarf, then I will aid you, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, Prince and King”


	2. Awaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin awakens to an unfamiliar figure but there are rules. The laws of an unknown magic.

The gentle crackle of a fire brought Thorin out of darkness. The warm golden glow pulled him toward a dark forest with a warming beacon. The gentle warmth tickled his skin, touched his face. Opening his eyes he was greeted by the glow of an open flame. A figure behind the flames appeared to be making a meal in a large pot, which hung over the fire. In his awakening haze, he thought of Bombur making a familiar hearty meal. 

Immediately he noticed the soreness in his muscles. They protested as he attempted to roll onto his side. Momentarily he was confused, why was he so sore? They were clearly still in Mirkwood, on their way to the Mountain. Momentarily he found himself disappointed. He’d been in a dream where they made it to the mountain. Smaug was defeated but then there was a battle, Azog came and killed him, jolting him awake.

An unfamiliar voice said his name from across the fire. “Thorin.” The voice was feminine, perhaps he was still dreaming. “Thorin are you awake?” The voice repeated while Bombur approached from around the fire. 

Thorin let out a groan. “Which one of you tripped over me during the night?” 

“Thorin,” the feminine voice called. “It’s only you and I.”

Confused, Thorin fully turned towards the figure he believed to be Bombur. Instead of his large friend he found a beautiful dwarven woman, with no facial hair leaning over him. Immediately panicked, he jolted backwards into a sitting position. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, causing an involuntary groan to leave his lips. Silently he cursed himself for showing weakness to this stranger.

“Who are you?” He demanded. 

“I am Frey.” She responded. Thorin’s head was spinning. “I brought you here. Do you remember anything?”

Squeezing his eyes together in an attempt to stop the forest floor from moving, Thorin tried to recall the previous day. As he followed the path of his memory he realized he hadn’t been dreaming. They made it to the mountain along with elves and men, then orcs. Azog had come for them. 

He remembered Fili, falling from Azog’s blade. Instantly grief gripped him. He remembered fighting on the ice exhausted. Azog’s attacks were heavy, ferocious. The image of Azog above him, pushing his blade towards his chest appeared in his mind. Thorin remembered pulling his sword free, giving into death but also taking his revenge. 

His hand went to his chest, to the point where he was pierced. Opening his eyes, he looked down, opened his shirt. There was the prominent scar, it had been real.

“Careful,” The figure before him spoke again. “Your wounds are fully healed but still tender. After a few more days you will feel somewhat like yourself.” She sat back on her heels.

“Who are you?” Thorin’s voice was gruff, coming out more like a growl. 

“My name is Frey, daughter of…” her voice trailing off. “I cannot remember.” She whispered seemingly to herself. “I’m the one who healed you, Thorin son of Thrain.” 

As she spoke he took a moment to observe her. She looked like a halfling because of her pointed ears which peaked out from behind black hair. A sea of black only broken by streaks of silver. Dwarven braids pulled the hair away from her face, fastened with familiar dwarven runes. Her strong jawline reminded him of dwarven women but she was too lean for a dwarf and too muscular for a hobbit. Her arms were covered in tattoos as dark as her hair, which were contrasted by her white skin. Around her waist she wore a short sword, and a dagger. Her amour was a blend of dwarven metal and elvish craftsmanship. The figure was unique.

When Thorin glanced back up at the female’s face, he was greeted by green eyes staring back at him. “How am I here?” Thorin asked, unsure why that question was voiced over the many others in his head. 

“You died Thorin, a week ago.” She spoke softly to him. 

“Azog.” He stated, thumbing the raised scar in his chest. 

“Yes.” Frey nodded. “Azog killed you on Ravenhill. Do you remember it?”

“I remember everything.” He could still feel the metal piercing his skin. “Is he dead?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “You weren’t alone when you died. You were with a...”

“Biblo.” He remembered looking up into his friend’s face, saying goodbye.

“Yes, the hobbit. They all mourned you.” She continued. “But you succeeded in your quest. Dwarves live in Erebor once more.”

“Kili is King.” Thorin straightened up, hopeful. 

Frey paused, causing something in Thorin to fall. “No, your cousin Dain is King Under the Mountain.” The look on her face betrayed her meaning. Thorin could see the moisture start to build in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

The realization was numbing. Kili and Fili were both dead. It was his fault. He’d led them to the mountain and to their deaths. His sister had lost both of her sons to him.

“I must see my sister.” Thorin declared. “I have much to atone for.” 

“You cannot.” Frey frowned.

“I will not be told what to do by some strange halfling!” Thorin bellowed, anger and sadness erupting from him. 

“I am no halfling, anyway not a hobbit.” She paused still kneeling, hands on the top of her legs. “Thorin Oakensheild, King Under the Mountain is dead. They put you in the halls of your forefathers. Dwarves from all over Middle Earth came to your funeral. Gandalf spoke over you as you passed into myth and legend.”

“Then how am I here!?”

“I..” she stumbled over her words. “I went down and brought you back, the magic is old and complicated but Thorin Oakenshield is dead. The magic that brought you back to this world also stops you from reentering your old life. Everyone who knows you will not recognize you.”

Thorin opened his mouth to interrupt but she put up a hand silencing him. 

“Even if you saw them again, told them specific details that only you knew, they still wouldn’t believe you, or know you. If you were to seek them out and try again, your presence would cause only pain. Often you would remind them of their dead King and they would mourn again and again.” Her voice trailed off.

“You robbed my tomb.” He stated firmly. He could feel the anger start to burn within him once again. “How do you know all this?” Thorin questioned pointedly.

“I died too.”

When the words exited her mouth, Thorin paused unsure of what came next. She had gone through the same process as him, waking from death. “I shouldn’t go back to Erebor.” Sadness crept into his heart at his own statement.

“You should not try to claim the life you had. If you go to Erebor it will be as a lowly dwarf with no coin, and no status. You have a fresh start. You no longer need to be a king or a prince, just yourself.”

Thorin sat silently. He’d never known a life without duty, responsibility to a kingdom, a people. He had to admit, he felt lighter, free. There were many options yet his heart longed to see his friends again.

Frey stood and moved back to the fire. Reaching over, she removed a small steaming pot. He watched while she gingerly poured the contents into two bowls before coming to sit beside him. Taking one of the bowls in his hands, Thorin stared into the flames.

As the flames danced and the stew cooled, he found himself wondering about the person beside him. Who was she? What was she? Did he know her? He searched his memory for a Frey but there were multiple. Her face was unfamiliar. Who would save him?

“Who are you?”

“I told you Frey.”

“No.” He said firmly. “Who are you to me?” When he asked the question, he saw her face fall. “Why would you risk your life and freedom to rob the tomb of the King, just to bring me back?”

“I don’t know if you even could remember me.” She whispered. “Thorin, I died. We knew each other, well but I died. The same rules apply to me as well. I suspect, though, now, the rules may be different because you died as well. I cannot be sure.” Her voice faded.

“Perhaps you can tell me what you are.” Thorin said carefully but it came out more forcefully than he intended.

“Well,” she sat up straighter. He knew he had struck a nerve. “I am half dwarf, half elf. My mother was an elf. My father was a dwarf, probably from Erebor.” 

He paused for a moment, contemplating his reply. Despite his opinion on elves, he didn’t want to offend her. “That’s an interesting relationship.”

“From what I can glean from history, they probably met before the disagreement between Thranduil and Thror.”

“You cannot remember.”

“There is a price to having this kind of magic. I gave up the memory of my family for you to come back to this life.”

Thorin found himself confused. Staring into the fire he tried to rationalize what strange magic Frey possessed. “Is Frey the name I knew you by?”

“No. If you find me, you need to do it on your own.” Glancing over toward her, he could clearly see the sadness on her face. She was staring into her bowl.

“Did you hope I would awaken and know you?” He asked.

“Yes.” The quiet voice sounded strangled. 

“I am sorry.” He said earnestly. He knew what it was to be a stranger to those around you. His memories of his dragon sickness haunted him.

There was a pause as both of them stared silently into the fire. Thorin didn’t know how long it had been but he was growing increasingly tired. 

Beside him, Frey gingerly climbed to her feet, taking the now empty bowl from his lap. “You should rest.”

He nodded. He was exhausted yet he found himself wondering why he was allowing a stranger to care for him. He didn’t know her. Yet, someone who gave up so much to give him a second chance couldn’t wish him ill will. 

For a few moments he allowed himself to lay on his back and stare at the stars. The familiar gleaming lights reminded him of his youth. Laying out on a cliff side staring at the sky with the friends of his youth. Gradually, the darkness of sleep consumed him. 


	3. Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dream from Thorin's past haunts him.

_ The dark green halls of Erebor surrounded him, simultaneously chilled and comforting. Thorin followed behind while She led him towards a familiar room. At the end of an endless hallway they both stopped. On the wall blocking their passage was a carving of the throne and the Arkenstone shining over all. Before the throne knelt a hooded figure, hands open towards the stone.  _

_ She reached up and pressed the Arkenstone, which immediately unlocked the invisible doorway. With a strong push she disappeared into the room just behind the heavy door.  _

_ When he entered he was greeted by a view of her immaculate body shining in the torch light. Glancing down at himself he realized he was also unclothed. Battle scars covered his torso and limbs. A strand of his hair fell into view, the streaks of grey were prominent.  _

_ “I’m old.” He whispered to himself.  _

_ “You are older.” Her voice called to him, while the gentle sound of her feet against the stone floor grew closer. “Everyone gets older, we cannot fight time.”  _

_ Thorin looked up at her. She didn’t seem older. She was the same as last he saw her. Perfect pale skin, with a small scar on her ribs. Hair as black as the deepest mine, but as bright as a moonless night. Muscles defined, eyes shining, she was perfect. _

_ “You’re not older.” He said plainly.  _

_ “I am as you remember me.” She offered a kind smile, which made him feel safe. “You are as beautiful as you have ever been.” A soft hand traced a scar on his torso. _

_ “Do you still desire me, my prince?” There was a slight grumble to her voice causing a knot of anticipation to gather in his stomach.  _

_ “Do you doubt me?” He growled back with a smirk. _

_ “Never my King.”  _


	4. Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin discovers Frey as more in common with him than he expected.

A sudden, startling noise jolted Thorin awake. 

“Sorry!” Frey called over to him reaching down for the pot she apparently dropped.

He immediately noticed it was dark. “How long was I asleep?” He asked.

“A day.” 

“I was dreaming.” He said slightly surprised. 

“Is that normal for you?” She asked. “To dream?”

“No. Usually sleep is difficult, so dreaming seems impossible.” 

“It happened to me when I was first brought back.” She replied. 

“What did you dream of?” He asked hoping to learn more about his rescuer.

There was a long pause as she placed the pot back over the low fire. Slowly, she sat across from him on a fallen log. There was an audible sigh before she started to speak. “I dream of regrets, things I should have done. People I should have fought for.”

“Who?” Thorin demanded causing her to scowl at him.

“To be clear, you are not a king.” Her voice was firm, slightly threatening. “But,” there was a new softness. “I know why you are asking. A dwarvish lord, who I will not name. We were young.” Her eyes left his face and gazed into the flames but past them.

“What happened?”

“He discovered what I am.” She sighed. “He was unnecessarily harsh, so I left to be with the elves of Rivendell. I should have stayed. He was angry but at the time all he could see was an Elf, whose race left many to parish.”

“He was in Erebor that day?”

“Yes, as was I.” 

Suddenly, he felt a kinship with her. At least the both knew what it was like on that day. The heat, the smell and abandonment were all still vivid in his mind. He wondered if it was still in hers.

“Thorin?” Her voice seemed tentative. He nodded for her to continue. “Have you been in love?” She was a striking woman yet in the moment she seemed timid, unsure. 

Thorin, partially surprised by the question, took a moment to think, unsure if he was going to answer. Frey had been honest with him, perhaps he should return the gesture. “Yes, a lifetime ago.”

“What happened?”

“We could have never been together. She was not an appropriate wife for a prince.”

“She wasn’t highborn?”

“Not high enough.” He cracked a faint smile as he remembered Her. “But she didn’t mind. I was grateful for the time I had with her but in the end I became proud, arrogant...angry. After Thranduil’s betrayal and Smaug I pushed her away. I was absorbed in my own grief.” Saying the words out loud brought up feelings he hadn’t felt in decades. The face from his dream smiled in his memory. 

“Did you dream of her?” Frey asked quietly.

Thorin gave a half nod.

“They will fade with time.”

He nodded again.

“Tomorrow, you will feel mostly normal. So what will you do with your new life?” Her eyes gleamed, a small smile spread across her face.

“Erebor,” He said softly. “I heard your warning but I’ve spent a lifetime fighting for my home. I want to live in it. At least for now.”

She nodded. “If you have need of me, I will be leaving for Dale at first light. I wish you all the luck in the world.” Nimbly she circled the fire and knelt beside him, extending a hand for him to shake.

Carefully, Thorin took the hand in his. A small ball of sadness, surrounded by the familiar pain of loss welled in him. Desperate for answers, he gazed into her green eyes. “Who are you to me?” 

“Perhaps one day you will discover the answer.” She squeezed his hand. “Good night Thorin.” She walked away from him and went to lay on her bedroll. 

He watched her as she settled for the night. He found himself wondering why she was choosing to leave. Remembering her warning about his past friends, Thorin realized the pain she must be feeling. He didn’t know her and she believed there was nothing she could do to change it. She was leaving to save herself after saving him.

He sat and watched her for a few hours, before he felt his body demand sleep once more. Laying down he glanced over towards Frey and whispered, “thank you.”


	5. Friendship & Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin finds himself living in the shadow of his former self.

Two years had passed and Thorin had tried to build a life for himself in Erebor. Once again he was a smith, working tirelessly over hot iron. He reformed a friendship with Balin but it wasn’t the same as he’d hoped. He’d realized how much his friends loved and adored him, well Thorin Oakenshield but the friend they knew was gone and buried. 

Frey had warned him but he didn’t listen. She was right. He watched them mourn. There were moments when Balin would come speak with him as he worked like when they were in the Blue Mountains. Occasionally during those moments Thorin could see the eyes well up with tears. He knew it was him Balin mourned. 

Once Thorin asked Balin. “What’s wrong?” He said while still swinging his hammer. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Balin wipe his eyes.

“Just memories of a time long since passed.” The sound of the emotion gripping Balin’s voice was clear to Thorin’s ears. It saddened him to watch his friend grieve and be unable to do anything to ease his pain. It took all of his self control not to declare himself as Thorin Oakenshield but he knew it would do nothing. It would only cause more pain.

A couple of years of watching his friends constantly grieve weighed heavy on him. He found himself mourning for the friendships he once had. Gradually he began to think about Frey. Perhaps a fresh start was what he needed. Being around his old friends did nothing for either of them. Perhaps she could help him start truly anew.

Often he found himself laying on his cot, staring at the ceiling of his small home, wondering what the rest of the world could offer him. When sleep found him he found himself dreaming of Her. Frey said the dreams would stop eventually but Thorin didn’t want them to. He gripped tightly to the dreams and the memories they surfaced. They were the only comfort he felt in a life which was nothing more that painful. 

After one particular day of hard labor at the forge, Thorin found himself at his limit. Alone in his home, he started to speak out loud to the walls around him.

“I was a King, a prince once. Look at me now. This is what I chose to do with my second chance at life, be miserable? I am surrounded by the ghost of my own life. A life I cannot touch. I am alone.” He sighed and fell onto his bed. 

His mind recalled the few nights he spent with Frey around the fire. He wasn’t alone then. At least she had been present and caring. “Tomorrow,” he spoke to himself firmly, “I will go to Dale and find her.” His mind was set. He was leaving Erebor once again but on his own terms.


	6. Ghosts Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is Her again.

_ “Thorin,” Her seductive voice brushed against his ear.  _

_ Thorin kept his closed, savoring the feeling of her body against his. He was laying on his back, cool air licking his bare chest. She was laying on her side, breasts, and legs pushed against him. _

_ “Thorin,” She whispered again but her voice sounded sadder. “When will you leave me?” _

_ “Not tonight.” He heard his voice reply. He recognized the conversation. His Grandfather had declared Thorin’s intended marriage to the daughter of a lord from the Iron Hills.  _

_ “But this will soon be over.” She stated, resting her head on his chest. He didn’t say anything. He wished he wasn’t the prince. He wished for the freedom to be with Her, to choose.  _

_ Thorin felt her shift beside him. Her body moved so she was sitting on his lap, legs spread, straddling him. Absentmindedly, he stroked her thighs.  _

_ “Thorin.” She whispered pleading. “Look at me.” _

_ He opened his eyes but what he saw wasn’t a distant memory. Her face shone down at him, speckles of tears shone on her face. The black head of hair was different streaks of silver sparkled in the firelight. Intricate tattoos trailed up her arms and onto most of her immaculate body.  _

_ “I will always love you.” Her chest heaved. “I don’t think I could watch you be with someone else.” _

_ Desperate to ease her tears, he sat up hugging her. “I don’t have to leave you.” _

_ She let out a small laugh. “You are too honorable to carry on an affair while married to another.” _

_ He knew she was right, so he hugged her. A lingering fear filled his soul. Death was coming, Smaug. They only had tonight. _


	7. Seeing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin seeks out Frey in Dale.

The sun glared in his eyes as he exited the Lonely Mountain. In the distance the now rebuilt city of Dale stood proud as it had in the days of old. While he walked, a bag slung over his shoulder, sword on his hip, Thorin observed the city.

Smaug’s scars were visible. Towers which were once perfectly carved stone changed half way up in style and texture. The perimeter wall, which had been partly destroyed in the battle two years prior, stood strong but discolored in places. 

As he crossed the bridge to the city, the smell of the market caught his nose. The scent of rich meats, roasting vegetables and foreign spices filled the air, bringing forth memories of his childhood. 

Passing by him were elves, men and dwarves. The city had come back to life. He found himself both full of joy and shame. The memory of his actions at the gates Erebor, filled him with shame and regret. He’d refused to help starving people out of greed. He became his grandfather for a moment and the memory haunted him. 

Entering the market, he was greeted by the bustle of a growing city. There were people everywhere. He found himself instantly lost. How was he supposed to find Frey in all of the noise. 

Unsure of how to start his search, Thorin saw a vendor serving food with some empty tables nearby. He purchased a bowl of fish stew and sat, allowing his bag to fall to the ground beside him. 

Quietly and feeling entirely alone he ate. 

The sudden sound of familiar laughter caught his ears. Turning his head in the direction he saw a group of dwarves moving through the crowd. When some of the dwarven men parted to move around a cart he saw her. 

She wasn’t clad in armor, wearing a simple blue tunic. Her black and grey hair was braided behind her back. A joyful smile filled her face. It was at that moment he saw Her.

In an instant the regrets and memories he had been enduring for the past two years flooded his mind. The feeling of her body, her voice, her tears. He watched her move through the market towards him.

Without thinking he stood and made his way towards her, his bag on his back. Very quickly he found himself staring at her, standing in her path. He watched as her eyes found his. The smile on her face stayed while she dismissed the group she was with.

He didn’t have words, but just stared at her as she closed the remaining distance between them.

“Thorin!” She smiled. “It is good to see you. How have you fared?” She asked pleasantly. 

He just stared, taking in what time had done to her. He wondered how it was possible for a person to become more beautiful with time. As he took her in, as he saw her truly, he felt the familiar knot form in his chest. 

“I see you.” He whispered. 

She frowned, stepping closer, shaking her head, clearly unable to hear him. 

“I see you.” He repeated louder. He watched as her eyes widened at the realization. 

Forcefully, he felt her hand grab his and started to pull him through the streets. Obediently, he followed gripping her hand tightly. They passed crowds and various merchants until they were traveling down a mostly deserted alley. Wordlessly, they came to an abrupt halt outside a small home. She reached into her pocket, releasing his hand, pulled out a key and opened the door. 

Glancing over her shoulder at him she entered the structure. Thorin followed without hesitation. Inside, he found a humble home filled with a blend of dwarven and elvish items. The sitting room had a few armchairs and a fireplace in the far wall. In the center of the room she stood staring at him. 

He looked back at her, dropping the bag he was carrying to the floor. He watched as she inhaled deeply.

“What is my name?” She asked. He recognized the fear in her voice. He knew the answer. The name of the woman he loved and never told. The name that hadn’t left his lips since the fall of Erebor.

“Frin.” He whispered to her, taking a tentative step forward. Instantly her shoulder sagged. 

“Thorin.” His name was a strangled sob on her lips. Without hesitation he crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. 

“I apologize for everything.” He whispered to her. “My words when we wandered the wilderness were the words of grief and anger. They were an echo of my grandfather. They were wrong. I take them all back.” He felt her head fall against his chest. “I was a fool.” He felt the tears well in his eyes. “Then you left and Balin brought me news of your death.” He choked on the words, nestling his face in her hair. 

“Frin, daughter of mountain and forest,” He pulled himself away from her, taking her hands in his. He fell to his knees before her. “I never said it to you fearing the pain it would bring but now I have no obligations, no name, no title. I am just a dwarf. I know the years have been long. We have lived a lifetime apart but I love you. I have for my whole life.” 

He let the words fall from his mouth. The words he wished he’d say so long ago. The desperation filled his voice, the tears fell to his cheeks. When he finished he gazed at her, the fear of rejection filling his chest. She was staring at the floor. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. The silence felt like it was closing him in. The realization started to dawn on him. She didn’t want him, she moved on.

“Thorin.” Her voice caused his eyes to fall to her feet, as he waited for her inevitable rejection. He saw her knees bend. Kneeling before him, he glanced back up into her eyes, their faces level with each other. 

“Thorin.” She repeated his name, a whisper on her lips. “I have always loved you. I knew then, your words were not true but I left all the same. That mistake was entirely mine. I should have stayed.” Her hands left his. She shuffled forward, placed a hand on his cheek. “You will always be my prince.”

She brought her face to his and placed a chastise kiss on his lips, so light he couldn’t react. Just a breath away from him she stilled, breathing softly. “My King.” The words were not but a whisper as they reached his ears.

He looked into her emerald, shining eyes. Without thinking, he grabbed her, dragging her body to him. Desperately he pressed his lips to hers. She leaned into him, letting out a small sigh. The softness of her lips, the feeling of her hands on his neck filled his senses. 

The sense of home he had been searching for since Erebor fell suddenly overwhelmed him. Home was never a place. It wasn’t the emerald halls of the mountain. It was Her. It had always been her. 

When their lips separated, he looked at her taking her in, each line of her face, the tattoos on her arms. The grey in her hair. Reaching up, Thorin took a portion of her hair from her temple and started to braid. He wasn’t going to lose her again. When the braid was completed he took one of the beads from his own hair and silently offered it to her.

She looked at the bead for a moment, then up to his face. He knew that she knew the importance of the act. A small smile spread across her face, followed by a nod. Warmth instantly filled his chest while he fastened the bead to the braid. 

“My life is yours.” He whispered into her ear as they embraced. 


	8. Union

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They found each other.

A small bedroom with a wide bed at the center stood before him. The wooden walls were covered in the occasional tapestry. Standing before him, bare, was the most amazing view he had only dreamt of. Her raven hair fell against the pale skin of her body. Streaks of silver contrasted the dark black. The tattoos covered every part of her body, a inky black against her skin. A long ragged scar spread across her chest in addition to the small mark on her ribs. Defined muscles highlighted her strength.

Carefully he approached her, feeling the warming air on his bare skin. Dwarven runes laying underneath her scar had caught his attention. They read, ‘Behind the hidden door is my prince, my King.’

“You left a mark.” She said.

Carefully, he traced the words. “The mark you left on me is not visible but no less real.” He replied. 

Once again, her lips touched his. Her skin pressed against his. He moaned into her mouth, feverishly kissing her. 

Clumsily, they climbed onto the bed trying not to break the kiss. Momentarily, Thorin pulled away from her, to lay on his side. With open arms he invited her into his embrace, instantly she was nestled against him. Carefully, he pressed his lips against hers once more. 

He felt her hand trance it’s way down his chest, over his stomach until it grasped him. Leaning his head back, he let out an audible groan.

As she gently stroked him, he realized his control was waning.

“My love.” He whispered to her. “I wish to be united with you.”

Her hand immediately stopped. Thorin urgently rolled the two of them over so he was propped up on his hands, hovering over her. Carefully, he guided himself into her. 

The damp warm of her was all encompassing. He was lost, unaware of his surroundings. It was only her, her face, her eyes, the feel of her. As he moved within her, she moaned. 

With one hand he reached in between them and caressed her, causing her movements to become erratic. He could feel her muscles tense, growing increasingly tighter. Then, without warning, her body erupted into spasms. Her muscles gripped him so intensely he felt himself quickly approach his end. With an incredible burst of pleasure he emptied himself into her.

When his mind cleared, once again he rolled them, so she was laying on top of him. Both of them were breathing heavily. He felt an undeniable happiness surround him. 

“Thank you,” he said, slowly allowing the tenor of his voice to reach her. “You saved me. I love you my queen.”


End file.
